Heaven and Hell
by ms metaphor
Summary: And if there’s no heaven, where will you go? [Tragic DG. Oneshot]


**_Heaven and Hell_**

by ms. metaphor

**Rating:** PG

**Genre: **Angst/Romance

**Pairing:** D/G

**Summary: **And if there's no heaven, where will you go? Tragic DG. One-shot **Possibly a companion to _Weight of the World_**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Draco, Ginny, or anything else Harry Potter. I'm not making any money. I actually do this for fun. (Sad isn't it? I need a social life.)

**Author's Note:** "When I die, I want your hands on my eyes." is first line of Pablo Neruda's

**Warning:** Character Death

* * *

_Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell._

- Emily Dickinson

* * *

With a roar and a crack, the heavens break.

Rain plummets toward the earth and shatters like glass. Great bursts of lightening rent the sky, ignite the trees, illuminate the field beyond the forest.

Across the field, through the torrent, under the torn firmament, she runs. Crimson footprints have already cut a trail through the knee-high weeds and wild flowers. She follows the stained path, hurtling headlong, blindly, through the darkness. Her only light is the lightening and the faint green mist rising over the castle in the distance. In the heart of the field, she stops to examine a larger area where the undergrowth is bent and matted.

Someone fell here.

One hand pulls across her forehead, comes away wet and bloody. She is bleeding above her right eye. She presses the sore spot and wipes her hand on her robes. No time for that now.

The tracks continue east, so she runs east. The brush rips at her clothes and her flesh; she doesn't notice. A broken branch, she's going too fast, and she's tumbling forward. Hands fly out, the heels of which catch and scrape the mud. She takes a few heavy breaths and rises. Runs again.

Nearly to the forest, she skids to a halt. A form lies prone amid dancing, thrashing blossoms. Lily-of-the-valley, moss-rose, pale daisy, wild orchid – all painted and dripping red. The color of passion, of life.

_Draco._

She reaches him in a blink, crumples to her knees, seizes his shoulders with her hands. "_Draco._" Oh God, she cannot breathe. Cannot breathe. Cannot breathe. Cannot breathe.

His body heaves and shifts, face turns toward her. His flesh is like snow, which seems absurd to her, because it is June. There is no snow in June. There can't be. Not in June.

"Ginny," he breaths. "Ginny. Ginny. _Ginny_." His throat closes in a hacking cough, spewing blood on his flesh of snow, cold and silver in the green mist and lightening.

She hauls his body up towards her, cradling his head to her breast, unconsciously rocking him to the beat of her own heart. "Shhh. Don't speak. I'll – I'll j-just fix these wounds and – and you'll stop bleeding and we'll manage our way back to Hogwarts and – and somebody, somebody will help… there are mediwizards – lot's of medi – "

"Ginny – Ginny, shut up." His voice comes out as a rasp. "Ginny, listen to me. Listen to me. Are you listening?" She nods furiously. "I got Nott. West of here, in the woods. Her body's between two big oaks… You must – must remember that. They need to see… the body. And you – you need to run… run fast as you can south. No, no, you need to run. Ginny, I want you to _run_. Keep running till you're past of the apparition barrier. Then you apparate some place public, a – a muggle place. London, King's Cross or the Bridge. You find somewhere quiet, out of the way, for the night. Stay there for the night and when the sun rises … help… help with the clean up."

"No. No. No. Draco, you're going – "

"I need you to remember that, Ginny. Promise me you'll remember that."

Tears sear like acid in her eyes. He gazes up at her. The rain falls gently now, beading on his forehead and lips. The moonlight pours over his brutal, beautiful features, sharpens them and shadows them to perfection. His razor-edge cheekbones look especially prominent, and, beneath them, the hollows of his cheeks are shaded grey. Fine hair flows like mercury through her fingers. Every second, she feels she is losing him.

"I promise."

His shoulders ease. A great tension is lifted off them.

"Good."

She snaps suddenly, "I hate men."

Even in his state, wheezing and ruined, he manages to arch one eyebrow.

"Just like a man to run off and be a hero. I don't – now you're – you didn't need to go! They could've sent someone else to warn the school. This wasn't even your battle!"

She wants to pound him. To hurt him, to throw things, to rile him up. Anything to rouse him.

But he only looks grave. "Yes, it was."

She shakes her head convulsively. "No, it wasn't. It wasn't. I – I need you, Draco. I _need_ you. You stupid male, you – you – I can't…"

He clasps her hand in his larger one, presses it to his cold lips. "Yes, you can. It had to be done. I wanted to do it, and it had to be me. And – and I wouldn't change it."

"Well I would! I'd have you come out of this alive!"

He looks slightly confused at first, pauses thoughtfully. "Yeah. Me too. But…" He grins wildly, his pupils dilated, eyes already miles away. "If I have to go, this is how I'd have it be."

She almost laughs. She cannot comprehend what's happening. What is happening? No, she doesn't know.

"You mean going down in a blaze of glory."

His body still, then coils and arcs in a spasm of white-hot pain. Effects of a Very Dark Curse. She holds him fast, because there's absolutely nothing in the world she can do. Finally, he slackens, exhales deeply.

"No," he answers, eyes wide and brilliant and almost spilling over with agony and sadness. "That too, but… no… going like this… in the rain. With you."

She is undone.

"Ginny, don't cry… Don't cry."

But droplets burn down her face, cling to her chin and fall onto his right hand, which rests on his chest. Trembling, she leans down and meets his mouth with her own tear-stained lips. It is barely a whisper. The softest, sweetest, most sacred touch she's ever known.

He shuts his eyes. Goes absolutely still.

"I am going to die."

She thinks she must be watching all this happen. She stands outside of the field and watches as a lovely young woman with hair like sunset weeps beside a fractured young man, whose head glows silver and whose diamond eyes flash at the sight of her. And something's happening that shouldn't be happening. It's exquisite. Terribly, utterly exquisite.

Death. She can taste it choking her nostrils, melting in the center of her tongue. Never has she savored anything quite so pungent. But his fingertips smooth her face. Bring her back to reality. She realizes, she is the girl with sunset hair. And that smell – they're drenched in that smell. It's right here. Death.

And he knows it, so he says the one thing that matters. "_When I die, I want your hands on my eyes…_"

A sob wrenches from her throat. His hold on her left hand loosens as he slants his own hand so their palms meet.

Again, Draco intones, "_When I die, I want your hands on my eyes…_" He struggles to speak. "We… we tried, Ginny. We tried and – we succeeded and that's all that counts. That's all that counts. That, and I love you."

"Do you believe in heaven?" she blurts out.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"I don't."

"I always believed in hell," he continues, "but… look." His eyes roll skyward. At the spiraling rain, at the parting clouds above the emerald haze. "And – "

His jaw clenches unexpectedly. He bares his teeth like raging wolf. An awful hiss. She just holds him tightly, willing the pain to go away - to go into her body if need be, but just to go away.

"And," he continues when he can, "if there is no heaven, where will you go?"

She tries, really tries, to smile, but she can't.

His breaths is coming in short gasps now, but one more time he manages, "_When I die, I want your hands on my eyes…_"

This has to be hell. To watch him die like this: the life running out of him at such a leisurely pace. This must be hell, where curses spells that do things like this. This has to be hell, where curses exist that she cannot block or fix. This has to be hell. To let a fine, fierce life go. The pure _wrongness_ of it turns her stomach over and ties it in knots.

But there must be a heaven, because, above her, it is broken.

And the remains lie about her in all directions. The ragged flowers and the grasses in shreds. The ruined, blazing castle. The branches that fell with the gale. The sorry robes she wears that were once flimsy silk of sea green. The one she loves lying in her arms, who will lie there evermore and never, never mend.

Draco shakes in her embrace. The tears in his eyes finally ran their course. He is freezing, as if all his blood went still. And in all probability, it truly has. His eyes shimmer like two giant stars. He can't speak, but that doesn't matter. They have conversations with their eyes.

His eyes say, Don't leave. Never, she answers wordlessly.

_And if there's no heaven, where will you go? _

Then the moment comes, and she knows it. Like their infinitely personal meeting of palms when she knows it is him, the moment touches her and she yields. One last tear and he closes his eyes forever. Yes. As simple as that. But a great hand has just reached inside and stolen a part of her soul.

It doesn't hurt anymore; no more pain.

As one handles a newborn, she lays him down, straightens his limbs, murmurs "I love you" one last time. She stands, hands fisted at her side. A raw scream. This has to be hell.

She remembers her promise and heads west. She doesn't feel she is moving. She doesn't feel real at all. As she staggers, barrels forward, the castle and the green mist and the body of her lifeless lover fall farther and farther away. When at last she reaches the apparition barrier, she pauses and stares at the stars.

_And if there's no heaven, where will you go?_

There must be a heaven, because it is open.

* * *

**Finis**


End file.
